Chudleigh
by Chasing Uncertainties
Summary: For the final of Fire the Canons' Quidditch League Fanfiction competition; Ron and Hermione visit the hometown of the Chudley Cannons. Lighthearted fluff.


**A/N: **A little Ron x Hermione fluff for the final of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Challenge: to write a story about a fan of your team in its hometown. (no prompts)

wow.

Final, guys! It's incredible. My lovely team (whose names are on my profile). A million thanks to Ash (Fire the Canon) for putting all the work into the running of this huge thing, and a thousand shoutouts to all the amazing writers from very team in the competition. It's been wonderful, guys, really.

* * *

"Get up."

"M'up."

"Ron, get up."

Ron felt something pushing at his arm and groaned. "Geroff me."

"_Ronald Weasley!"_

With a jolt, Ron awoke fully and sat bolt upright. "Huh?"

He squinted at Hermione, whose form was becoming clearer and clearer. She looked rather put off by his tiredness, but had an excited sort of sparkle in her eyes that he couldn't quite place.

"Hermione," Ron groaned again, "Why're you waking me up? It's so _early_…lemme just go back to sleep for a few more minutes."

"No!" she insisted, tugging on his arm and beaming. "We have plans today."

He frowned, still sleepy. "…What plans? I don't remember…besides, you've got work, so let's just…" he flopped back down on his bed.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Ron, it's a Sunday. I don't have work, silly. Come on, I've made you breakfast."

A vision of Mrs. Weasley's Sunday morning crêpes danced across Ron's vision and his mouth watered. He sat up once more. "Breakfast?"

"Well…" Hermione frowned, blushing a little. "Toast."

"Toast?"

It wasn't quite the same as crêpes, but the promise of food was enough to get him out of bed anyway. Head still groggy, he walked through the vaguely unfamiliar flat and sat at the kitchen table.

"So," he said through huge bites of toast, "What are these plans of yours?"

After making a mildly disgusted face at his manners, Hermione said secretively, "It's going to be a surprise. But you _will _like it."

"Well, as soon as I know where we're going, the surprise'll be gone."

"No, it won't," replied Hermione immediately, "Seeing as we can do side-along apparition." She beamed, satisfied with herself. "That way you won't know until we're there."

Ron winced, flashing back to the adventures they had during the Second Wizarding War with Harry. "Last time we did side-along apparition you splinched me," he complained.

"_Last time_?" Hermione scoffed, though her cheeks were a little pink. "That was years ago. Besides, we set you right in no time. You don't need to worry about that."

Ron finished his toast. "I still don't fancy it," he said petulantly, standing up.

"Well, I suppose that's too bad for you, then," said Hermione smugly, pushing him towards the bedroom. "Hurry up and get dressed, we've got to be on time."

"What, we're on a schedule? We've got all day," said Ron. "I don't see what's so—"

"_Just hurry_!" she exclaimed, exasperated.

Bewildered, Ron did as she asked. "Should I be wearing Muggle clothes?"

Hermione, though she always wore Muggle clothes, shrugged, tight-lipped. "Wear whatever you like. I'm not going to give anything away."

It was shaping up to be an odd morning—though Hermione never had been exceedingly good at secret keeping, she was managing to stay discreet about this one. He wasn't sure what she could possibly have in store that was such news. Hermione's idea of an exciting day out involved a visit to the library in Muggle London downtown.

"Come on, then," she said, pulling Ron by the arm as soon as his clothes were on and his teeth brushed. "We've got to get going!"

She hurriedly rummaged through her beaded bag, the same bottomless one she had kept with her since the war, as if searching for something. Ron, still baffled, gripped Hermione's arm and watched as she shut her eyes in concentration. "Please don't splinch me," he mumbled nervously.

"Be quiet," retorted Hermione, "I'm not going to. I was in a hurry that time, alright?"

Ron drew in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes tight before the flat disappeared, and suffocating darkness surrounded them. He never liked apparition, side-along or not. Portkeys, brooms, and floo powder were all preferable methods of transport.

Next he knew, they were in a mild field, with a town visible just up ahead and he could breathe again. It wasn't any place Ron had been before, and it certainly wasn't the library in Muggle London.

"Come on, we're here," she beamed, pulling him along.

"Alright," said Ron, stopping dead. "Now that we've _actually arrived_ at whatever-this-place-is, you've got to give me some sort of explanation."

She spread her arms out excitedly, presenting the place. "I present to you…Chudleigh!"

Ron's brow furrowed. "Chudleigh?" He recognized the name immediately. If you don't know the hometown of your favourite team in the Professional Quidditch League, he thought, you weren't a proper fan. "Blimey."

There was a brief moment of silence where Hermione looked hopeful and Ron wasn't sure what to say. He'd always had Chudleigh in the back of his mind, but there was never any point in the Weasleys going, for Ron was the only one of them who liked the Cannons. And when you were outnumbered six to one like that, there was really no getting your way.

"Blimey!" he exclaimed, a little louder. "Hermione, how'd you even know the Cannons are from here?"

She smiled big. "It's not hard to do research. Besides, Harry knows just as much about Quidditch as you do."

"Does _not,_" frowned Ron reproachfully as he followed her into the village.

"Did you know," said Hermione informatively, "That the village was founded in 1670? Just four years before the Professional Quidditch League. And the last time the Chudley Cannons won the world cup was in—"

"—1892," said Ron sadly. "I know."

"Yes, that. And the seeker who won the match for them was named something or other—"

"Charlie Blunt," supplied Ron. "Where are we going?"

"Here!" she said, and they found themselves in front of a tiny stone house, more of a shack than anything. "_This _happens to be where he lived. All his stuff is gone, of course, broom and everything, they're at some museum in Diagon Alley. But no one wanted the house—I can see why—so here it is!"

"Blimey," said Ron for a third time. "I've got his Chocolate Frog card and everything. He's a hero for Cannons fans."

"He's the _only _hero for Cannons fans," giggled Hermione.

"Hey!"

"Anyway, come on, there's this little Wizarding store down the road that I know of—"

"—How?—"

"—Doesn't matter, but they sell the cutest things, I swear, the Quidditch team is the only thing this town has going for it. Pity the Cannons are so bad," she said absently, leading him down another side street.

Ron wanted to tell Hermione to wait up—she seemed to be so excited that she was in a hurry. It was nice, really, to see her happy about Quidditch. Hermione never got interested in the Chudley Cannons. Not like this.

The shop turned out to be tiny, dumpy, and not attracting any of the Muggles' attention. It had an old wooden sign with faded orange paint that read, _Blunt's Quidditch Emporium_.

It wasn't much of an emporium; nothing like the one in Diagon Alley, and its variety of brooms were limited to Comet Three-Sixties. It was littered with postcards, orange quills, and Cannons merchandise that cost only a few knuts. They sold butterbeer and sandwiches, which Hermione promptly ordered. They got a postcard for Harry and Ginny, Ron bought orange 'Chudley Cannons' ink, and then they wandered the streets. Every now and then Hermione said, "This is where Gillian Holt lived! He was the top Chaser in the entire league in 1889."

Ron still wasn't sure how she had managed to come up with all of the information. It was impressive, even by Hermione's standards.

As for Ron, he was completely at home in Chudleigh, land of the Cannons. It occurred to him once or twice that he would be happy to live here—not that Mrs. Weasley would ever let him live as far away as Devon.

'_Mum_,' he would complain, 'I can just apparate whenever I want to visit!'

She wouldn't have it.

"Ah," said Hermione, "Here we are!"

"This is it, is it?" asked Ron warily—though admittedly, he was excited now—as they made down an alley towards a distantly visible open green field. "What you were so excited about."

She didn't answer, only dug around in her bag as they walked.

There was a moment's pause. "Here!" she exclaimed, producing two small pieces of paper from her beaded bag and handing one to Ron.

He examined it interestedly, eyes widening in realization. "These are…Cannons tickets," said Ron hoarsely. "Blimey, Hermione." He had never been to a Quidditch match, not other than the one for the World Cup nearly ten years ago. His family always said they were too expensive; and honestly, if the Weasleys were going to a Quidditch match, the Chudley Cannons most likely wouldn't be their first choice.

She was watching him expectantly and curiously. "They're playing the Fal…something Falcons," she said. "Just down the road, it's their home field and—do you like it?"

Ron stared at the tickets. "Falmouth Falcons. _Blimey_! I could kiss you!"

Hermione's cheeks were tinged pink. "Maybe you should," she suggested, glancing up at him.

So he did, grateful and soft and ecstatic in the middle of the picturesque Chudleigh alleyway.

"Now, come on," she said after a long moment. "We've got a game to go to."

"How did you even _get _these?" said Ron, almost to himself as he all but skipped down the street. "And what's the occasion?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Call it your early birthday present. Besides," she added in an undertone, still grinning, "Cannons tickets aren't very hard to come by."


End file.
